Light of the Jedi(57)
Marchion Ro’s own family had taken Mari San Tekka…stolen her, no reason to call it anything other than what it was. They had used her skill to find things they believed they needed back then, and then they had just…kept her. Told her whatever stories were required to keep her happy and working. Handed her down from generation to generation, until eventually she took up residence on the Gaze Electric.
Mari San Tekka seemed to believe she was still working as a prospector. Sometimes she thought Marchion Ro was her father (or his, or his grandmother), sometimes her son, sometimes her jailer, sometimes her business partner. Her sense of time had gotten muddled over the decades—though her skill at finding new hyperlanes had not diminished, and not just the Paths Marchion requested for Nihil raids. Mari had charted new, secret routes all over the galaxy, from the Deep Core to Wild Space. She seemed to think Marchion Ro was selling them to the Republic, or whatever form of government she thought was currently running the galaxy. That belief was consistent no matter what identity she assigned to him.
In fact, Marchion didn’t use Mari’s new routes at all. He stored them on the Gaze Electric’s central database. There could be a time when they would be valuable to him…but many things had to fall into place before that day could come.
Still, it kept Mari San Tekka happy to believe she was making herself useful, and when she was happy, it was easier to get her to do what he actually needed.
“Thank you so much, Mari,” Marchion said. “You can input them to the computer, and we’ll reach out to buyers right away. You’re fantastic.”
Mari smiled, suddenly shy. She was so good, so ignorant. Marchion hated how much he needed her.
“How are things going with your work, Marchion?” she asked. “That big fancy plan of yours. Are you making progress?”
Marchion had told this woman things…things he had told no other living being. He told himself it was because he needed her expertise, and not because he had no one else to tell.
He considered her question. The Paths, and Mari herself, were his legacy, passed down to him from his father. Asgar Ro hadn’t created the Nihil, nor had he ever ruled them. Neither did Marchion. Both served as the Eye, which sounded impressive, but in truth the Eye just provided a unique service—the Paths—for which the Nihil’s true bosses, the Tempest Runners, paid extremely well.
Asgar Ro did not bring the Paths to the Nihil just for the credits it would give him, though. He had a goal in mind—redemption and revenge, for his family and many others. He had not lived to see it come to fruition, and had passed the task to his son.
Completing that work would require transformation—the Nihil would need to become something entirely different than the selfish, ravaging, disorganized band of criminals they currently were. Until very recently, Marchion Ro had not been able to see any way to get it done…but now he had no choice. For centuries, the Republic had largely left the Outer Rim to govern itself, but now things were changing. They were building a huge station, the Starlight Beacon, and what they called galactic outreach he called force projection.
The Nihil had to evolve now, before it was too late and the Republic brought their law and order and control to the Outer Rim. And of course, the Jedi. Couldn’t forget about them.
“My plan is…ongoing,” he said, answering Mari’s question. “Some stumbling blocks along the way, and the next steps will require some serious subtlety. It’s a dangerous time for me, in some ways. Actually, I was hoping you might help me with something.”
Mari lifted a frail hand, and her smile faded.
“Oh, you want some Paths. Do I have to? I just did so much work finding that new route…it wore me out, it surely did. Can I do it later? After a nap?”
Shock her, Marchion thought. Shock her again and again until she burns inside that blasted pod.
“No,” Marchion said. “It’s just a question. I just wanted you to think about something. The chef made your favorite for dinner—we can have it brought in, if that helps.”
Mari sighed.
“All right, Marchion,” she said. “If you really need it. You know, your father never worked me as hard as you do. I miss him.”
Marchion Ro’s finger twitched toward the button that would trigger another shock to the medical pod. His father was dead. Marchion did not and would not walk that man’s path. Mari San Tekka and the Tempest Runners could make as many little jabs as they wanted, suggest he could never measure up. It didn’t matter. His father was dead.
He took a deep breath and clenched his gloved hand into a fist.
“Thank you, Mari,” Marchion said. “Here’s what I’d like you to do.”
He pulled a datachip from his belt and plugged it into a reader on Mari’s medical pod. Information displayed on the inside of the canopy in bright blue—rapidly scrolling lines of data that described the last moments of what was once the doomed Legacy Run as it scattered through the Hetzal system. Mari San Tekka’s eyes sharpened, scanning the information, missing nothing.
“Oh dear,” she said. “That poor ship. What a tragedy.”
“Mm,” said Marchion Ro. “It didn’t stop here, either. Pieces of that ship have been popping up out of hyperspace all over the Outer Rim. They’re calling them Emergences. There’s one part in particular—a section of the bridge that contains the ship’s flight recorder. The Republic is looking for it, because they think it will tell them things they want to know about what happened to the Legacy Run.”